


If the Bough Breaks

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Character Injury, Caranthir Gets to Be a Dad, F/M, Gen, pregnancy gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: When Caranthir had sent an urgent missive asking for help, he hadn't expected this to be the result of it.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Caranthir | Morifinwë/Caranthir's Wife
Comments: 21
Kudos: 153
Collections: Feanorian Week 2020





	If the Bough Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Silmarillion.
> 
> Title from "Rock-a-Bye Baby."

He’d pulled the curtains open so that light streamed in from the window directly onto the bed. She loved the sunlight. She’d appreciate that when she woke up.

And she would wake up. The healers had been very clear on that. Firien would wake up. It was just the herbs the healers had given her that were keeping her unconscious now.

The healers had been much quieter on other matters. Like how fast she would heal once she woke up.

If she would heal once she woke up.

Caranthir clung a little more tightly to the little bundle in his arms.

Useless, all of them. What good were they if they couldn’t even tell him if - 

The bundle squirmed, and he took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to let his temper get the better of him. Not now.

A very quiet knock sounded at the door.

He didn’t want to call to let them in. It might disturb her, or the little one, so he stalked over to the door and yanked it open with his free hand, the other arm still carefully holding his precious bundle.

“My lord.” The messenger kept her voice low as she bowed, and Caranthir appreciated it. “Your brother has arrived.”

He blinked. Relief rushed through him in a wave even as doubt raised its ugly head. “Already?” He’d sent the courier mere days ago. Unless Manwe’s eagles had deigned to carry him, surely he hadn’t reached Curufin yet.

“One of your other brothers, my lord,” she corrected. “Lord Celegorm. He arrived in some … haste.”

That could mean nothing good. “Were they pursued?” he demanded. Now, now of all possible times for the Enemy to attack … 

And if Celegorm had fled here, alone, and not to Maedhros or Maglor, who were far closer -

Quick, harsh footsteps echoed across the flagstones as Celegorm all but ran around the corner in the narrow hallway. He was still covered in the dust of the road, and his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

One of Caranthir’s guards was trailing behind him looking helpless and a little apologetic.

Celegorm just looked relieved. “Brother! There you are. What’s happened? How far away is the Enemy?” He closed the distance between them and raised a hand as if to clap Caranthir on the back, but he froze when he got close enough to see the little bundle in his arms. “And why do you have a baby?”

Oh, good, Caranthir thought dryly. Now they were both confused.

“There was an incursion about two weeks ago, but we took care of that,” he said. “If there’s been more since, I haven’t heard of it. What’s brought you riding in like there’s a battalion of Balrogs on your heels?”

His people looked rather interested to hear that themselves.

Celegorm looked more confused than ever. “Your letter, of course.”

Caranthir wanted very badly to pinch the bridge of his nose against his growing headache, but the baby was squirming around again, and he needed both hands to keep a good grip. “I didn’t send you a letter.”

“No, you sent one to Curufin,” he agreed. “Only he had to cross Maglor’s lands to get there, and I was visiting Maglor at the time - “

“So he just gave it to you instead?” Caranthir demanded incredulously. It took all his self-control to keep the volume at a low hiss.

Celegorm waved this off. “Of course not. But I did ask what had him so quick to leave Maglor’s hospitality, and he told me you had sent him with an urgent request for aid, so we sent him on and agreed that I would ride on as fast as I could with my men.” He paused. “Also, you still haven’t explained the baby.”

It was all starting to make a horrible kind of sense.

“I don’t need military aid,” he said wearily. Firien had, two weeks ago, but it was too late for that now. “If I had, I would have sent to Maglor, not Curufin. He’s closer. I need help with this.” He held the baby out a little helplessly.

Celegorm took him instantly, which hadn’t quite been what Caranthir intended, but if Celegorm hadn’t dropped Celebrimbor during the early years, he probably wouldn’t drop his newest nephew either.

Even if Celegorm’s dust caked tunic wasn’t quite what he wanted the little one cradled up against.

“He’s adorable,” Celegorm said softly before adding with a teasing lilt, “nothing like you at all.”

“Thank you.” He waved his people off. He could handle things from here, and someone needed to go reassure Celegorm’s men that they weren’t all about to be invaded.

Celegorm looked up. “He does, however, look rather like Firien.”

Caranthir nodded.

Celegorm’s eyes widened. “You’re a father? Why didn’t you tell us she was pregnant?”

His neck prickled. It had been too long since he checked in on Firien. He opened the door again quietly and waved Celegorm into the room after him.

Firien was still laying on the bed just as he’d left her. The bandages were still well in place, and she hadn’t bled through them. Good.

He still couldn’t resist going closer and laying his hand on her forehead, just to check that her fever hadn’t risen.

It was steady. That was something.

Not enough, but something.

“We didn’t know,” he finally told Celegorm. “Not until she’d already ridden out with that caravan.”

She had been a traveling bard before she’d married him, despite the dangers of the road, and she’d seen no reason to stay hidden inside the safety of a stone fortress just because of her marriage. He hadn’t tried to stop her. She always came back, after all.

She nearly hadn’t this time.

“They got delayed,” he said quietly. “You know how early the snows came. She was almost due by the time she was getting close to home.”

“And then they were attacked,” Celegorm concluded.

Caranthir had to choke back a bitter laugh. “She had the baby in the middle of the battle.” He shook his head, trying not to imagine it. “The others managed to fight the orcs back, but it was a close thing, and she - well, she couldn’t defend herself. Not like that.”

“Will she make it?”

Caranthir shrugged miserably. “They don’t know.”

Celegorm’s hand closed over his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I see why you wanted Curufin,” he admitted. “He would have been better at this.”

If she didn’t - If things went wrong -

Curufin would understand how that felt.

And Curufin would know what to do with a baby.

He loved the child so much it hurt, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to do this. He’d been too young when Curufin was born to pay much attention to baby rearing, and there had been enough others to take care of the baby Ambarussa that he hadn’t gotten dragged in until they were old enough for his adolescent self to consider them interesting.

What if he did it wrong? What if he hurt him? What if - ?

Celegorm was bouncing the baby in his arms. “Boy or girl?” he asked.

“Boy,” Caranthir said, pulling himself out of his dark spiral of thoughts.

Celegorm made a pleased noise. “Another little nephew! What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” Caranthir admitted.

Celegorm looked at him incredulously. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Firien was barely conscious when they brought her in,” he said defensively. “She wasn’t exactly thinking straight enough to tell me!”

“Naturally,” Celegorm agreed in tones that suggested Caranthir was being impossibly slow. “But what about his father name?”

Caranthir looked away. “I wanted to wait,” he mumbled. “Until I could talk to her about it.”

He’d never had to name anything more important than a horse before. 

The baby was not a horse. The baby was going to have an opinion on whatever he came up with.

“That’s sweet,” Celegorm said, but he continued on with his usual brutal practicality. “But the kid needs a name. If she hates it, she can just call him by his mother name.”

He appreciated that Celegorm acted as if he was completely certain she would be well.

He appreciated far less what came out of Celegorm’s mouth next, which was, “I could help if you want.”

“You named your dog Huan,” he said flatly.

“So? Huan’s a good name.”

“A name that means _dog.”_

“It means _great_ dog,” Celegorm said, sounding offended.

“That doesn’t change the fact that if I leave it up to you, you’ll probably name him _great baby.”_

“He _is_ a great baby. Aren’t you, little one? Yes, you are. Yes, you are!”

“We are not calling him that.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to come up with something else,” Celegorm said cheerfully. “Or we can wait for Curufin to get here. Celebrimbor seems to like his name alright.”

That was true. Still. It was his son. It was his job to come up with a name.

“I’ll think of something,” he grumbled. “Now give him back.”

Celegorm did so, albeit a bit reluctantly.

“I wish Atar was here,” Caranthir finally admitted.

Celegorm’s eyes softened. “He would have been thrilled.” He considered it for a moment. “He probably also would have had about two dozen name ideas for you by now.”

“No,” Caranthir bit out automatically, even though that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about.

The baby yawned in his arms, his head snuggling deeper into Caranthir’s tunic.

“I’m going to call you Artanàro,” he decided. “Or Rodnor, where the Sindar can hear.”

Celegorm frowned over the etymology. “What does that mean?”

“Whatever he makes of it,” he said, settling on the edge of the bed and settling little Artanaro’s sleeping form into one arm so that he could reach out with the other to hold Firien’s too warm hand. “Whatever he wants to make of it.”

There were enough dooms in this world already without his son having to bear another one from him.

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you are familiar with Gil-Galad’s background might recognize Rodnor and Artanaro as the two forms of his father name.
> 
> Those of you are familiar with my Scion stories and How to Train Your (Evil) Dragon would be right in thinking this is not a coincidence. Personally, I consider this a sort of AU prequel to Scion of Somebody, Probably, but feel free to interpret it however you like.
> 
> At least according to tolkiengateway, neither of these names has a meaning directly attached, thus Caranthir’s comments at the end of the story.


End file.
